Les Aventures du Renard Blanc
by Ladyamesindy
Summary: Le Renard Blanc  The White Fox  became a symbol of hope for Fereldens during the Orlesian Occupation.  This is her story. - companion to We Do What Must Be Done - Char. Marianne Desmarais
1. Prologue

_And so we begin __**Les Aventures du Renard Blanc**_ or _**The Adventures of the White Fox**_. _I hope you enjoy._

_If you have not read __**We Do What Must Be Done**__ yet, you may want to just to get a feel for the character of Marianne Desmarais. However, this will be a bit more of an in depth look at her, so it may not be necessary. I will reference some of the background she gave in the previous story, but not all. I shall leave it to you to decide._

_Additionally, this story is a ... blending, if you will, of pieces and parts of stories: It is a direct connect to my __**We Do What Must Be Done**__, and is also connected to the tale of Arhiannon Cousland which has yet to be written, but is in the works. You may also recognize Arhiannon's name from __**Walking Wounded**__, for that is part of her tale as well. By the time I am finished, I hope to have Arhiannon's family's complete tale documented ... an epic if you will indulge me, made up of various pieces!_

_I begin this story by asking an indulgence: your patience. I do not know how often I will be able to update this story - I already have two going, a third in preparation and several others in line, but I hope it will be at least once a week/2 weeks. Additionally, I have a child and husband both about to start back to school, and guess who gets to play secretary for term papers (for the husband, that is!). This story is near and dear to my heart, so when I do update it will be with something well thought out and worthy of your attention! _

_To my past readers, thank you for coming along for this ride! Little did I know when I lent the character my name that it would result in a story all her own! However, I am looking forward to the challenge and I hope you find it to be a worthy endeavor on your part as well._

_To my new readers: Welcome! Come on in and stay awhile! I hope you enjoy, and if you have comments/questions or observations, please feel free to let me know via the review option. Constructive criticisms or simple comments of whether you like it or not are always welcome!_

_I would like a chance to give my most heartfelt thanks to __**Erynnar**__ and __**VioletTheirin**__ for being the most fabulous betas a person could ask for! Thank you is hardly enough, my friends! Their observations on content, suggestions and all other input has much to do with my finished product!_

_A heads up as we begin this journey: I do not know_

_As always, Bioware owns it all ... I just get to rearrange it to my liking!_

_

* * *

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**LES AVENTURES DU RENARD BLANC**

It was their first night out of Lothering that Arhiannon decided to approach the lay-sister. Both she and Leliana had talked during their walk from the village, and in the process, Arhiannon both verified information she already knew and discovered quite a bit of additional information about the woman's background. While Arhiannon and Alistair were setting up tents and Sten found wood for the fire, Morrigan set up her own camp apart from the rest, and Leliana and Fytheiad hunted and scavenged for food. They had some supplies from which to draw for their meal, but for the most part Arhiannon intended to live off the land.

An hour or two later, the campsite was looking well established. Arhiannon sent Alistair off to see to the newcomers who had just joined them: two dwarves they had assisted just outside of Lothering. Arhiannon decided this was as good a time for a private discussion with Leliana as any.

Arhiannon made a quick stop by her tent first, changing out of her armor into her usual leggings and tunic, her sword belt at her waist. She left her bow in the tent, but reached for something just as large wrapped in a heavy canvas. Smiling to herself, she stepped outside and lifted the package in one hand. She knew what was inside, knew the story behind it. She hoped that Leliana would be willing to listen.

Approaching Leliana, Arhiannon gestured to a nearby stump. "Would you like some help with dinner?" she asked, setting the gift aside for the time being.

Leliana glanced up from where she was cleaning one of three rabbits. With a smile, she handed over one of the animals. "Please," she replied in her lilting Orlesian accent. Glancing at Arhiannon, she added, "I would like to thank you again for allowing me to come along ..."

Arhiannon, with the hand containing her blade, waved off Leliana's words. "Please don't. I am glad to have you along. What is the old saying? 'The more the merrier?'"

Leliana laughed aloud, her voice carrying across camp. Arhiannon noticed Alistair turn to look at them both, a smile upon his lips. She smiled back at him, but turned her attention to the job at hand. "Actually," she admitted softly, "I was going to start looking for you soon. Your finding us simply made things easier for me."

Leliana was startled, and Arhiannon noticed her stiffen. "Wh-why would you ... look for me?" she asked, her blue eyes suddenly shuttered, her stance wary. "Have we met before? Should I know you?"

Arhiannon hoped the smile she gave was one of reassurance. She finished skinning the first animal and then reached for the second as it became clear that Leliana was too stunned to do it herself. "Not really, no," she responded. "But it is more complicated than that." She glanced up at the woman and told her in all honesty, "Leliana, I am no story teller, but I have information that you should hear. It will take some time, but I think you need to know it."

Leliana finished skinning her rabbit, then took the three and placed them in the iron pot which she set close to, but not in the fire. She then began working on some vegetables to add at a later time. She did all of this in silence, but Arhiannon could almost see the wheels inside of her lovely red-haired head spinning. "I am a former minstrel, yes? Songs and stories were my life. It would be foolish of me to pass an opportunity such as this."

Arhiannon gave her a grin. For a moment, she was silent, collecting her thoughts and organizing the manner in which she wished to relate them. "Let me begin by saying this: a long, long time ago, before either of us was born, my parents and your mother's cousin were friends."

Leliana frowned. "My mother's cousin ...? How do you know of my mother? Of her cousin?"

Arhiannon chuckled softly. "As I said: complicated. I promise, I will explain." Adjusting to a more comfortable position on the hard ground, leaning back against the stump, Arhiannon continued, "During the Rebellion, my parents met a remarkable woman, an ex-Orlesian named Marianne Desmarais. Marianne, it seems, was a cousin to Amélie, who worked for Lady Cecilie in Denerim. The same Lady Cecilie I believe you mentioned to me this afternoon, yes?"

Leliana could only nod, a look of bewilderment mixed with fascination crossing her fair features. "Amélie ... was my mother ..."

"Marianne made a request of my parents," Arhiannon continued while reaching for the package nearby. "When she passed, killed by her own brother, she asked my parents to find your mother."

Leliana still sat frozen, the vegetables sitting in front of her untouched, the small knife she had been using fallen to the side. "My mother ..." she breathed.

Arhiannon nodded. "My mother told me she went looking for your mother the moment she could. As the Rebellion closed in on Denerim, my father and his troops joined. My mother insisted on going even though she was heavily pregnant with my older brother, Fergus." Leliana's gaze now seemed to clear, her eyes focusing in on Arhiannon and her words. "When the final confrontation with Meghren was about to begin, my mother found Amélie and Lady Cecilie fleeing. She chased after her, begged her to stay in Denerim, to be with your father ..."

Leliana gasped. "You know who my father is?" she breathed.

Arhiannon frowned. "Did your mother never tell you?"

Leliana shook her head. "I was very young when she died. And Lady Cecilie never said a word about him ..."

Arhiannon nodded. "I was not told much either, I'm afraid. Just that he worked in Denerim and my mother spoke to him, promised him she would ask you mother to stay with him in Denerim if she found her." She gave her new friend an encouraging smile. "Perhaps we can look for him if he is still alive in Denerim?"

Leliana nodded. "Perhaps."

Arhiannon nodded, turning to the package now resting on her lap. Shifting to her knees, she handed the bundle over to Leliana who seemed surprised. "What is this?" she asked.

"This is Marianne's gift for the child she would never know in person but knew her cousin would have; just as she knew one day my mother would have a daughter to whom she left the blades that I now carry."

Leliana took the package in her hands, carefully unwinding the ties that held the canvas in place. Moments later the fabric fell away and both women gasped in awe. "It is ... magnificent!" Leliana sighed.

The bow was made of heartwood that was stained black. Leliana rose to her feet, carefully stringing the bow in the process. After satisfied with the results, she hefted the beautiful piece, a work of art really, and drew the bowstring to test its tension. Given the relative newness of the weapon, still visible after all these years, the strength of the pull (and she could tell by its craftsmanship that it was a strong bow), Leliana was surprised that she was able to make an almost full pull with it.

Arhiannon nodded in agreement with Leliana's efforts and her words. "I had heard about _Death's Nock_, but my mother never showed it to me." She grinned. "She said it was a gift for someone else, and that we should not covet that which we cannot have."

Leliana smiled back. "Yes," she replied, "I can see why she would have said that after seeing this." She reached over to her quiver, lying nearby, and selected an arrow. Setting the missile into place, she then turned, gazing around for a target.

Arhiannon rose, pointing to the left of Bodhann and Alistair towards a large tree. "That elm, right there. See the knot in the center?"

Leliana nodded once and lifted the longbow. She took careful aim, pulled the bowstring back, almost to her ear, and moments later released it.

The shot told Arhiannon more than she ever would have learned about her new friend from simple discussions. The strength it took to pull the bowstring, the accuracy of the shot ... the complete and utter shock on Alistair's face as he spun around and glared at them. Both women giggled, ignoring his unsettled look for the moment. Leliana quickly retrieved the arrow and replaced it in her quiver. "I am ... overwhelmed at such a gift!"

Arhiannon smiled sadly. "I know my mother wanted you to have this long ago," she murmured, "and was discouraged that she could not get it to your mother."

Leliana shook her head. "No," she insisted. "The Maker had it work out this way for a reason. To wish it otherwise would be sinful."

Arhiannon said nothing in response to this. Reseating herself, she reached for some of the vegetables and began preparing them for the meal. "If you like," she finally said, her thoughts eventually circling back to the conversation at hand, "I can tell you the stories my mother told me, so you can have an idea what Marianne was like?"

Leliana nodded as she sliced some carrots, onions and potatoes. Adding these to the pot, she replied, "I think I should like that very much, my friend..."


	2. Goodbyes

_Just a reminder that if you have not read __**We Do What Must Be Done**__ yet, you may want to just to get a feel for the character of Marianne Desmarais. However, this will be a bit more of an in depth look at her, so it may not be necessary. I will reference some of the background she gave in the previous story, but not all. I shall leave it to you to decide._

_M most heartfelt thanks and gratitude to __**Erynnar**__ and __**VioletTheirin**__ for being the most fabulous betas a person could ask for! Thank you is hardly enough, my friends! Their observations on content, suggestions and all other input has much to do with my finished product!_

_As always, Bioware owns it all ... I just get to rearrange it to my liking!_

_

* * *

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The day had been a complete wash to begin with - quite literally. From the moment the sun had risen over the edges of the city walls and rooftops, a cold, damp, bone-chilling rain had been falling. Throughout the day, it had continued to fall, more than a steady drizzle, but less than a torrential downpour. This added to the ever present dreariness of the capital city of Ferelden, converged to produce something akin to a water color painting that had been turned up before drying: what on a sunny, clear day were the sharp lines and edges of the city were now blurred and washed out; boundaries had become indistinct in the greying mist.

Cyril burst into Lady Cecilie's house through the servants' entrance, uncaring of proper propriety and etiquette. As he had feared, he found both Amélie and Marianne there, enjoying a moment's respite with Berthe, the noble lady's cook. He hated the thought of interrupting the interlude, particularly when he knew that the news he had would not be well received.

The women glanced over at the intrusion, noting as they did who was approaching. Amélie was the first to react, jumping to her feet as her intended entered the building, water pouring off of him. She grabbed a stack of kitchen linens and rushed to his side, hurriedly handing them over and beginning to rub him down. "Cyril, what in the Maker would cause you to rush out in the rain like this without any protection from the elements? You'll catch your death!"

Cyril was trying to dry his hair, the towel covering his face so his reply came out garbled.

"What?" Amélie asked.

Cyril lowered the linen, glancing around the room until his gaze locked onto Marianne's. "Simon is dead," he choked out, his voice rough with his own pain at the news.

In the silence that fell over the entire room, the only sound that could be heard was the china cup falling from Marianne's hands and crashing onto the stone floor.

* * *

As rooms went, it was of average size. There was enough room for the two women who slept there, a shared armoire and a small amount of space to move about, but little more. Even the backpack now on top of the bed had been hidden beneath until a half hour before for lack of room elsewhere.

"Please, cousin, do not leave!" Amélie was pleading.

Marianne simply kept packing, unmoved by her cousin's appeal. "It is time for me to move on," she said simply, her lilting tones reflecting her Orlesian upbringing. "And though I appreciate everything that you, and Cyril and Lady Cecilie have done for me, I must go."

"But, _where_ will you go?"

The room was silent except for the rustle of clothing as it was sorted through. She would not have room for it all, and yet there were certain items she did want to take with her whether for personal comfort or the memories they brought with them. "I will go where I am needed," was the reply, though she suspected that her cousin knew her intended destination.

Amélie knew it was useless to beg any longer. She had been doing so since Marianne had announced to her less than an hour before her intentions of leaving. As Amélie rose to her feet, she turned to face the woman who was the closest thing to a sister she knew. "I will miss seeing you, cousin. Your presence here is a great comfort to me you know. Should you change your mind, please ... come back to us."

Marianne simply nodded. If she turned to face Amélie now, she knew she would end up in tears along with the other woman. "Cheer up, cousin," she finally managed, placing a pair of heavy winter stockings into the bag, "you will hear of me." _And when you do, justice will have been served!_

The door closed softly, but Marianne waited a long ten count before turning. Finding the room empty but for herself, she paused in her activities and turned to sit upon the bed. _What in the Maker's name am I doing?_ she wondered silently as she covered her face with her hands for a brief moment. _I have a place, almost a home here. Why am I doing this? Despite my training, what good can I do - one woman alone against the world? _She paused for a long moment, allowing her misery to crash through her. _Simon!_ Since the word had come two days before, she had been dealing with the recurrent thoughts and emotions tied with the loss of her beloved Simon. Though it always caught her unprepared, Marianne had found that since making her decision to leave Denerim, to go _hunt,_ that she was able to control it more ... but at moments like this, it would catch her unawares.

There came a knock at the door then, one that was firm in its insistence but not overbearing. Sighing, Marianne rose and walked over to the barricade, turning the handle and cracking it open. A soft gasp escaped her lips as she found Cyril standing before her. Swallowing hard, Marianne stepped backwards, opening the door for him to enter. "Cyril," she finally managed.

Cyril watched the young woman walk back towards the bed and resume her packing. From the appearance of the bag, he knew that her preparations were about complete. "Amélie asked if I would speak with you," he said quietly, standing to the side, out of her way. "She thinks I might be able to convince you to stay."

Marianne's hands paused momentarily in their movements, but soon resumed as she replied, "Nothing you say will change my mind."

Cyril nodded slowly, sadly. "I ... I do not know what to tell you," he managed at last. "Simon cared for you a great deal, Marianne, I know that much. He ... he told me that he ..." Cyril's gaze lifted to her own. "He was going to ask you," he finally said.

Marianne nodded, feeling as if her heart had frozen over. Simon's brother's words should have eased her mind, but they did not. _My love, what else can I do?_

Standing, Cyril rested his hands upon her shoulders. "Take care ... sister," he told her. At her look, he smiled. "Had he lived, you would have been. In my heart you always will be my brother's wife, my sister by marriage whether you had the Chantry's blessing or no."

She smiled and turned back to the bed. The pack now buckled, she shouldered it and reached for a nearby wool cloak in deep blue. Before she could don the garment, Cyril had taken it from her hands and placed it around her shoulders. He then fastened the clasp at her neck. "You are definitely the most stubborn woman I have ever met," he told her with a smile as she reached for her nearby bow and quiver. He watched in silence as she armed herself.

"I am Orlesian, does that not explain it all?" she teased though her voice nearly broke.

Cyril chuckled softly and returned, "Not in the least."

Standing in front of him, Marianne Desmarais gave her friend and almost-brother a long look. "Cyril, I wish I could stay, to be with you and Amélie, but I cannot. There are too many memories here, too much to remind me of what I have lost. I will take to the road and try to find justice for Simon, make his murderers pay. If the Maker wills it, I will come back to you afterwards. Please, take care of Amélie for me. I can leave happily if I know you can do this small thing for me."

Cyril sighed. Stepping in front of her, he placed his hands at her shoulders again. He was tall, yes, but she was also on the shorter side. Leaning down, he kissed her forehead and pulled her close for a hug, which she returned. "You know I will watch out for her. Take care of yourself, my friend. Come back to us in good health. May the Maker guide your path."

Marianne's smile was half-hearted. "I will wish you the same, cheri." She then turned and left the room. Descending the staircase in the back of the building, the access used by the servants, Marianne soon found herself in the kitchens. She took one last look around before reaching for the door handle. "You'd best not be leaving without telling me goodbye, young lady!"

Marianne chuckled as Berthe, Lady Cecilie's longtime cook, came barrelling over. The woman was not a day over sixty, and had been in the noble woman's service for years. "Berthe," Marianne said with a soft smile, "have I ever left this house without telling you?"

Berthe chuckled. She handed a small cloth-wrapped package to the younger woman. "It isn't much, but it should last out on the road for you. Take care of yourself out there, my sweet thing. Come back to us when you can."

Marianne leaned over and kissed the older woman's cheek fondly. "I will, Berthe. Thank you." With one more last glance, she turned and left the building.

* * *

As Marianne approached the gates of the city, she recognized one of the men on duty. "Martin!" she greeted him with a smile.

"Ah, cherie!" the man, old enough to be her father, replied. "Venturing out of the city so late in the day? Surely you know better than that!"

Marianne chuckled. Everyone seemed to think she was so incapable of surviving on her own. If only they knew ... "Ah, Martin, duty calls and I must be on my way south. Perhaps you know of any travelers having left today in that direction?"

Martin thought for a moment and then nodded. "There was a group of merchants, clothiers perhaps? Certainly they were carrying bolts of fabrics and such as used by clothiers. They left not three hours ago, headed towards Lothering, I believe. There were three wagons, twelve travelers, most of them in the wagons, though I believe there were at least three on horseback."

Marianne smiled. "That is perfect, Martin. Exactly what I am looking for." She saw concern on his face, and she patted his hand. "No worries, cheri, I am on foot, but I am one person, not slowed by wagons or merchandise. I shall catch up to them no later than tomorrow morning at the very latest!"

The older man smiled. "I wish you safe travels then, my friend."


	3. Opportunities

_Thanks to all who continue to follow despite the long periods between postings, including Erynnar, Piceron and Snafu1000. I apologize for the delay, but my muse has been busy elsewhere. I'm hoping things will now begin to pick up ...!_

_Thanks to my wonderful betas who help make sure I'm describing battle scenes correctly (or as close as possible as they should be! Any problems with them, please contact me as I am the one who came up with it!): __**Erynnar, Piceron **__and __**VioletTheirin**__._ _ Special thanks to VioletTheirin who suggested the elf's name below. MUAHs sweetie!_

_Bioware owns it all except what I've made up ..._

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* * *

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It took her some time, but Marianne found the trail of the merchants Martin had told her of on the highway leading south of the capital city. Once that was discovered, it was only a matter of time before she caught up to them. However, the sun began to set that first day before she could reach them. As she began thinking of making camp, something she had not done for a number of years since her arrival in Ferelden, yet a skill she would never forget, she came upon a village near Dragon's Peak that had a small inn with rooms available. Taking some of the small amount of coin she had, Marianne decided to stay the night in safety and security rather than chance it alone on the road.

The next day she rose early, just as the sun began peeking over the horizon. She stopped at the local tavern for a brief meal before setting out to catch up with the caravan of merchants. It was some time later, perhaps mid-morning, when she glanced the road ahead and discovered almost immediately that something was very wrong. Though she was below the rise of the hill, she could see smoke rising above and lots of it. The wind was blowing towards her, and she soon could smell the scent of wood turning to ash. Without a second thought, she pulled the hood of her dark cloak over her head, pulled her bow free and moved in the direction of the nearby woods. Staying within the shadows of the treeline, she made her way south until she could see the attack. The wagons were burning, most of them appeared to have been burning for some time.

Scanning the scene in front of her, she noted numerous bodies down, most of whom appeared at least from a distance to be the merchants; no weapons, no obvious evidence of self defense, all of them men of an age to know how to defend themselves. It appeared that the site had been a camp, a fire still flaming slightly nearby with cooking gear set upon the edges, tents erected on the ground, additional bedrolls laid out. Lifting her bow and taking aim, Marianne focused on the attacker nearest her and let her missile loose ...

The attackers shared similar features in that they were garbed in dark pants, dark tunics and dark cloaks with hoods. Most were armed with daggers or swords, though there was one with a crossbow. The man she had targeted was on the ground kneeling over an older man. As her adversary took the arrow in his left shoulder and fell to the side, Marianne could see that the older man had what appeared to be a dagger protruding from his chest. With a soft hiss of a curse, she moved along the treeline yet again to find another target.

From what she could see, there were four attackers remaining. That did not account for any who, like she, were using the trees for cover. She thought the chances unlikely, however, as the men who remained did not seem to be expecting assistance from anyone else. Across the distance between them, she could see the crossbowman lifting to take aim ... in the direction from which her previous shot had been made. _Interesting_, she thought as she prepared her next arrow, nocking it into the bowstring and lifting her weapon to take aim. The moment she released the first one, she reached for a second and moved a further distance south while watching her arrow plant itself in his upper right arm. As she had thought given his previous movement, he took aim in the direction of her last shot, so she took a moment longer this time, drawing until the string was near her ear, aiming for his heart.

Once the bowman was down, there were only three remaining, none of whom seemed to notice that they were down two men as they were busy with their opponents. That changed soon, however, as one felled the man he had been fighting and turned to assist another of his brethren. She took another arrow, glancing at her quiver to take note of how many remained, and fired at one of the two men. This one was harder to take down, the missile landing through his cloak and into his shoulder, but seemingly not slowing him at all. _This one wears armor Leather or plate?_ Another launch, this one to the hip. A third sank into the back of his neck, dropping him immediately.

Two left, and she had three arrows remaining. Making her decision, Marianne stepped forward, still unseen by the remaining two attackers, though the one was beginning to turn. Her bow lifted, the arrow nocked, she aimed for and hit him in the face, the missile entering his cheek and continuing back. Marianne didn't know if the wound was fatal, but she did know he was out of action for the moment. Turning to the last man, she found him rising, spotting her almost immediately as she strode forward in her direction. This adversary was also in some armor, leather it appeared, that covered his chest, his arms. She took her first shot low, aiming for a crippling shot to the thigh, and immediately shot the second towards the face on the off chance that she would get lucky.

She did not. The first shot penetrated through the soft muscle of the leg, the tip protruding through the back, but he still kept moving forward. The second shot grazed his cheek as he managed to miss the brunt of it. Marianne shifted her stance immediately, taking her bow into both hands and maneuvering it like she would a staff. This trick had been taught her by one of the guards at Meghren's palace, where Lady Cecilie had managed to get Marianne the opportunity to train with some of the best archers in Denerim.

The man approaching had a dagger, an axe and the fire of anger burning in his dark eyes. Marianne knew she would be lucky to get away with her life. He swung at her with the axe first, trying to catch the bow/staff with the blade and yank it away, but she saw the movement, and knew what he was going to try. Deftly, she changed her angle so he could not catch his blade around the yew, and aimed it frontwards, shoving it towards his stomach with all her strength in an effort to stun him just enough so that she could make a break for it. Unfortunately for her, the wood did not stand the strain and though it did slow the man just a bit, it snapped in two, and he continued to move in on her.

Marianne then reached for the only weapon she had left, her dagger. Though she had basic training with the blade, she knew she was no match for him. She backed up as he advanced, his larger, longer strides giving him an advantage she could not counteract. And then she tripped over something - a stone, a limb, some sort of object on the ground behind her - and fell with a hard thud. Still the man advanced, towering over her, raising his axe while maintaining her gaze ...

The blur was as sudden as it was quick, and in the space of a blink of an eye, Marianne found her adversary knocked backwards, though still standing, and in a fight for his own life against a flash of movement so devastatingly fast that it was mere seconds before the man was down, his blood gushing forth from a slice at his neck, his thigh, his belly, and in his eyes was a look that recognized his own death.

Marianne was on her feet in an instant, though still poorly armed she took a defensive stance lest her rescuer should turn on her. She paused, waiting for the cloaked frame in front of her to turn.

"I mean you no harm," the deep voice assured her before turning to show himself.

Marianne kept her eyes on him, watching as he lowered the hood of his cloak exposing dark hair, a swirl of tattoos on his face, dark eyes ... and pointed ears. _An elf_, she realized. Blinking twice, she took in his appearance: the muted natural tones of his leather armor and clothing, the make of his weapons, in his case two uniquely crafted and very lethal looking daggers. _A Dalish?_ He stood in a relaxed posture, his weapons at his side, no sinister intent noticeable. Swallowing, Marianne lowered her defenses, straightening until she matched his pose. "Thank you for your assistance," she said with a nod.

The elf nodded in return, a slight smile crossing his face. "I thought perhaps I was too late," he told her. Then his smile disappeared and he took a quick step forward. Marianne felt a flash of alarm as he approached, and she tried to move into a defensive posture, but he was too quick for her. Instead of attacking, however, he stopped in front of her, his hand gesturing towards her left cheek. "You are injured. May I?"

Marianne lifted her left hand to her cheek, felt the dampness there, and removed it to see the smear of red on her fingertips. Frowning, she glanced up at the man in front of her who had reached for a pouch at his side. She watched as he removed a cloth, a vial containing a reddish-colored liquid which he poured onto the cloth before lifting it to the wound on her face. She felt the coolness of the liquid against her skin, a strange tingling sensation and suddenly realized that it must be some kind of healing potion.

He indicated that she should hold the cloth to her cheek for a moment, and while she did he put away the rest of the liquid, securing it back into the pouch from which it had been retrieved. Another moment later, he turned his attention back towards her, lifting the edge of the cloth to take a look. With a nod, he removed the material and pocketed that as well. Marianne ran her fingertips over the flesh that had knitted itself back together, all the while keeping her eyes upon him. "Thank you," she murmured.

The man nodded, then turned to glance around them. With a sigh, he murmured, "It really seems as if I was too late."

Marianne frowned up at him, tilting her head slightly to get a better view. He was just about her height, perhaps an inch shorter but no less. "You were planning to join this caravan?" she asked uncertainly.

The elf chuckled ruefully. "No. I was after the men who did ...," he gestured around them, "this. They were part of a larger group, one that has been terrorizing various groups in the area for months. Their targets are mainly merchant caravans, but they have been known to prey upon groups of Dalish as well." He turned towards her when he heard her gasp. "Are you unwell?"

Marianne felt her legs go weak at the mention of other merchant targets. Slowly, she sank to her knees. "Simon ...," she breathed.

The man knelt beside her, a hand at her shoulder to keep her from falling. "Have you other injuries?" he asked in concern.

Marianne felt his hand squeeze gently to get her attention. "I - I think these might be the same men I am searching for," she whispered. She turned towards him slightly, searching his gaze. "There are more you said?"

He nodded. "Yes. They attack in small groups, they have enough men for about three such groups." He scanned the area again and then corrected himself, "At least until today."

Taking a deep breath, Marianne rose back to her feet. He joined her, eying her closely to be sure she would not suddenly collapse again. "I believe these are the men who murdered my intended husband," she explained.

The elf made a noise deep in his throat. "Ah. They are the ones who attacked a small party of Dalish hunters not long before the last full moon. One of the hunters killed was a good friend."

Marianne looked over at him. "Then we both have a similar purpose," she murmured. "Perhaps we might have more success if we were to work together?"

He looked over at her, eyed her for a long moment, and nodded. "I am Andaer," he told her, extending his hand.

Marianne accepted it, clasping her hand to his wrist as he did hers. "Marianne Desmarais," she told him. Then, releasing his hand, she turned back towards the devastation in front of them. With a sigh, she told him, "I suppose we should do something for these unfortunate souls."

Andaer made a non-committal sound before replying, "It appears we need to find you a weapon as well." He gestured to the broken pieces of her bow that lay on the ground nearby.

Marianne groaned softly. "Yes," she replied. "That was perhaps not the wisest of moves." She looked at him when he began to chuckle softly. "My friend," he told her, "that move may not have been good for your bow, bit it saved your life by giving you the extra moments necessary for me to arrive."

Marianne blushed slightly at this, realizing that her instinct had saved her. "And for that I will be forever grateful." Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and began to do justice to the fallen. It took them most of the day, but Andaer agreed to help, even offering to dispose of the bodies of the bandits for her. By late afternoon, as Andaer returned from removing the last corpse, and Marianne supervised the last of the pyres for the fallen merchants. There was nothing to be done about the wagons, horses and other supplies that had been burned by the bandits. "We should go to Lothering," she told Andaer as they left the scene behind them and began walking south. "Someone needs to be notified."

Andaer agreed. "From what I have found out so far, the bandits have been striking all across the southern Bannorn. Perhaps we can find out more about them in a larger town such as Lothering."

Marianne nodded. For a time they walked in silence, becoming used to each other in the silence. They had a long road ahead of them, but there was unity to be found in the common aim: Vengeance. Find and deal with the bandits. Give the memories of those whose lives had been stolen some sort of peace. And, along the way, find a new purpose for living on.


End file.
